Concrete Jungle: Reminder of Times Past
by Sydney.State.Of.Mind
Summary: It's the 4th Quarter Quell, the first Quell since Peeta and Katniss' revolutionary victory and President Maldor's coup d'etat, his desire for vengeance and the return of the Games once again enslaving the land. Now, the tributes must face a Games which will prove to be more difficult than ever before; no one can be trusted, rebellion is brewing, and love is in the air...
1. The Announcement

Chapter One: The Announcement

* * *

All of Panem was silent as, across the country, silver screens flickered on, their President slowly coming into focus. The bloodless figure smirked at them, his body emanating power and enigmatical charisma. Satisfaction at the fear he assumed was appearing on their faces was clearly visible on his pale features.

He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and his blue eyes shone like chips of ice. His smirk widened into a smile which made the women of the Capitol swoon, but all the Districts could notice was how he bared his teeth slightly, like a feral animal.

Parents all over Panem wrapped their children in a tight embrace, as if to protect them with their emaciated limbs. As if they could save them from the evils of the world. Children stared up at the screens with large eyes, a mixture of fear and wonder flitting across their thin faces and their eyes darting between the President and the emotionless Peacekeepers. As if they could be safe from Maldor and his lackeys so long as they kept their eyes trained on them at all times.

President Maldor stood, his ornamental cane tapping the marble floor as he walked closer to the camera. He raised one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth quirked up into his infamous smirk.

"People of Panem," he breathed quietly, his authoritative voice loud in the silence, "Thank you for joining me today-"

"As if we have any choice," whispered a young woman in District Twelve.

"-as we celebrate 100 years of Hunger Games!" he hissed, drawing out the words and narrowing his eyes. He paused for a moment and his tongue darted out, wetting his lips and appearing, for a brief moment, like the snake he was, treacherous and slippery. But, a half second later, he had placed his hollow grin back onto his face and three quarters of the women in the Capitol melted at the sight of him, fanning themselves heatedly.

"I...would do anything for that man," one woman said to her friend, both of whom had ceased to look human, their wild clothes and hair paling in comparison to their angular and unnatural faces. The woman's friend giggled, the two leaning towards each other in a feeling of mutual desire.

"This, is the first Quarter Quell under my reign; I can assure you that it will top any other Quell we have ever seen," Maldor stated firmly, "Today, both you and I, will learn of our ancestors' plans, we will discover what is in store for our tributes this year."

Maldor paused, letting the moment sink in. Throughout the Districts, parents pulled their children tighter to their sides, if that was possible. The people mourned the return of the Hunger Games. A mere eight years ago, they had still been free. Eight years ago the reign of the Mockingjay was alive and thriving, the people were happy...even many of the Capitol citizens had enjoyed their newfound freedom.

But, as history often shows, not everyone was satisfied with their lot. They desired to obtain what they could not achieve through honest work, but with devilish trickery and underhanded plots.

"Bring forth the box!" Maldor proclaimed and a cowering servant stepped out of the shadows bearing a large wooden box, his arms straining from the effort. Another servant stepped forward, offering Maldor an ornate key; Maldor picked it up with his thin, spidery fingers and with agonizing slowness, put the key into the box and turned. The lock clicked open and Maldor lifted the lid, drawing out a piece of yellowed paper from its depths.

The crowds watched as Maldor eyes flicked across the paper and they shuddered as he smiled slightly. Lifting his cold eyes back up to the cameras, he began to read, "To remind all of Panem that their Rebellion not only hurt themselves, but others as well, during the 4th Quarter Quell, each tribute's fate will be tied to another's at home."

The people exchanged horrified glances and even the Career Districts were worried, for although the parents were willing to risk their children's lives, their own were a different matter entirely.

"This year, during the 100th Hunger Games, the 4th Quarter Quell," Maldor paused to let the length of their servitude and imprisonment sink in, "the tributes will not only be fighting for their lives, but another's as well. It could be their sister, their brother, their father, their mother, their best friend...only the strong will survive."

The screens faded to black, leaving only Maldor's image emblazoned in the peoples' minds. Silence reigned as the citizens walked silently backed to their jobs, their homes, their lives; but, everyone knew that soon any one of their lives could change forever.

And they hated it.

* * *

**Tributes and next chapter coming soon!**


	2. Before the Reaping

Chapter Two: Before the Reaping

* * *

**District Ten: Colton Crane**

* * *

Colton laughed along with his friends as Hunter imitated Mrs. Grobber's hulking walk and strangely high-pitched voice with perfection, the noonday sun hanging over them.

"That's it exactly!" Kaila exclaimed, jumping down from her spot on the fence, "Remember how angry she would get? Stomping all around the classroom..."

Kaila stomped her feet and hopped around angrily, snarling and scrunching her nose up like a pig. Colton burst out laughing, but Hunter stopped what he was doing. He moved closer to Kaila, wrapping an arm around her waist and scolding worriedly, "That's not good for the baby, you have to be _careful_."

Kaila laughed and punched him in the arm, "Hunter, you worry too much. A little bit of jumping around never hurt anyone."

"Well, you never know," Hunter said with finality and Kaila put up her hands in mock surrender. Colton regarded the pair with a smile, no one could ask for better friends. The three had been inseparable for years, Kaila had been the one of the few to not mock Colton for being slow in school when they were young and her kindness meant the world to him. She had often tutored him and under her patient care he had shown marked improvement. Hunter and Colton had met during the turmoil of President Maldor's takeover. Hunter's house had been burned down during the riots and Colton's parents had offered to let his family stay on their ranch. The boys bonded during their shared experiences of danger and fear, becoming as close as possible during that short amount of time. The two became more than friends. Colton regarded Hunter as brother and Hunter felt the same.

"So, it's your last Reaping," Hunter said, talking to both Kaila and Colton, "Excited?"

"Not really," Colton said, "We'll never be free. When I'm not worrying about myself, then I'm thinking about how you have one more year. Whether Kaila's going to be okay...Not to mention my sisters."

Kaila nodded in agreement, she and Hunter exchanging a look. Colton knew they were both afraid for the upcoming Reaping, if either Kaila or Hunter were chosen then neither of them could volunteer for the other. Hunter rubbed a hand over his face and grabbed Kaila's hand.

"It's all going to be okay," he said, "If you were chosen...I don't know, I would...I would..."

"You would what?" Kaila demanded, "Single-handedly take on all of the Peacekeepers and rescue me? Where would we go?"

"I don't know!" Hunter exclaimed frustratedly, "I don't know..."

Kaila patted his hand comfortingly, "Whatever is going to happen, will happen, no matter if we want it to or not. We just have to be ready to face it when tomorrow comes."

"Not to mention," Colton pointed out, "that Hunter wouldn't be fighting single-handedly."

Hunter smiled at his friend and the three sighed, unable to imagine their carefree childhood. The time when Reapings were a blot in their history books and freedom wasn't a forbidden word.

* * *

**District Three: Jerri Grace**

* * *

Jerri gasped with fake indignation, "You are so mean Seth!"

Seth shrugged and Jerri laughed, despite Seth's gruff attitude and habitual teasing, she knew that he never meant it. Despite being polar opposites, the two were the best of friends and Jerri often appreciated Seth's intimidating presence. Jerri loved being with people, talking, laughing, and having fun in general, but people often seemed put off by her quirky personality...

"Hey look, there's the old abandoned Monroe place, should we go in?" Seth asked with a devilish grin, pointing out one of the last wooden building in District Three. Years ago, the citizens of District Three had discovered that steel made buildings which lasted much longer than wooden ones and those were slowly replaced by the metal structures.

The Monroes had been a quiet family of of four, occupying their house during Snow's reign. The family had been fairly affluent, keeping to themselves, but all of District Three would agree that the two girls were polite and sweet, the parents loving and kind.

One night, a terrible tragedy occurred at the Monroe's house. Both of the parents and the older sister were brutally murdered. The next day, a group of Peacekeepers visited the house. No one answered their knocks and they consequently knocked the door down, causing frightened neighbors to peak through their blinds, wondering what the quiet Monroes could have done.

None of the Monroes were ever seen again and the house was left to decay, rumors surrounding its once bright halls. The official cause of death was stated to be a fast acting virus, the Capitol claiming to have gallantly contained the virus for the good people of District Three.

The rumors, however, claimed a far more grisly tale; each one varied slightly, but all had a common theme. The Peacekeepers had knocked down the door and instead of being faced with four frightened faces, there was just one, with blood on her hands, tears on her cheeks, and a knife on the floor.

The appearance of these rumors most likely stemmed from a drunk Peacekeeper, if they were true, or some mischievous ruffian, if they were not. But either way, Jerri was not going to go anywhere near that house.

"Besides, it's a _wooden _building," Jerri concluded, wrapping up her list of reasons why neither of them should move one step in the direction of the Monroes' house.

"I know," Seth said, "I was just thinking that, maybe, we could work on conquering that fear of yours."

"Why?" Jerri questioned looking very much like a frightened animal, "There's barely any left in District Three, I don't even see the point."

"Well," Seth said, pausing slightly, "people think it's a little weird. I mean, they invite us to go study in the library and you turn them down because you're scared to go inside."

Jerri frowned, putting her hands on her hips and scowling, "Well, I don't care what people think and if you're embarrassed of me, then go find a new friend!"

Jerri turned to leave, but Seth was quicker. He grabbed her arm and Jerri futilely struggled to free herself.

"I'm _not_ embarrassed of you," he said, "I just know that you _do _care what people think and I just want to help you. But, you've got the right idea, it's best if you don't care what others think. We're all messed, you just happen to be messed up in a way that none of us are. But, that's what makes you, Jerri. I like the messed up Jerri."

Jerri smiled slightly, "You're right, we all _are _messed up."

Seth smiled as well and the two started heading back in the direction of their homes, the sun sinking lower in the sky. But, before the two had taken more than a few steps, Jerri commented thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, you're probably the most messed up out of all of us! I mean how did you even get that tall at fourteen?"

Seth growled playfully and Jerri shrieked, running away from Seth as he easily chased her, neither thinking about how this could be their last afternoon of freedom. If what the Districts had could be considered that.

* * *

**District Two: Lila Waters**

* * *

That night, Lila plopped down on Rainer's couch next to Aria and Taylor. Taylor passed her a drink and she tipped it back, eager to forget her problems and lose herself in a haze of drinking, fighting, and having fun.

"Nice call on the party," Viryn called from across the room as she danced with Rainer, "Just what we all need to keep our minds off tomorrow."

Lila nodded and brushed her flaming red hair out of the way, her parents hadn't appreciated the fact that she had dyed it, but there wasn't much about her that they did appreciate. Besides, what were they going to do about it? Make her shave her head?

"Showing a little skin. Ooh, wouldn't your parents be mad," Derek said as he sat on the armrest next to her. Lila threw a cushion at him and he snickered and clucked his tongue, "Touchy, touchy."

"Oh, leave her alone Derek," Aria said, throwing a dart casually from the couch, "You're just upset because she keeps turning you down."

"That's right!" Derek said, already tipsy, "That does make me very, very sad. How about this Lila? I challenge you to a fight, no weapons and if I win you have to go on a date with me."

"Alright," Lila said, grinning, "But, if I win, then you have to give me the new knife you bought."

"Fine, we'll do it at midnight," Derek said, grinning, already anticipating what he thought would be an easy victory. Lila shook her head disparagingly and stood up. Derek never learned, no matter how many times she beat him, he always challenged her when he was drunk, it was practically routine by now. Besides, even if they were evenly matched, Derek was already stumbling around the room like a grizzly bear trying to dance ballet.

Lila walked over to where Rainer lounging in a chair, simultaneously sipping a drink and carving a design into the armrest with his favorite knife. Lila sat next to him, but he didn't look up, continuing to tattoo the furniture.

"Do you ever wish you had volunteered for the Hunger Games?" Lila asked quietly. Rainer looked up and laughed harshly.

"Do I ever wish that I'd voluntarily put myself into the position where I had a ninety-six percent chance of dying?" Rainer asked and he paused before continuing, "Sometimes I wish I had...can you imagine it? Eternal fame? I'd probably never have to work another day in my life."

Rainer pushed his dark hair out of his eyes, "But then I'd only get to enjoy that if I won."

"You could have won!" Lila said, desperate for him to say something which didn't discourage her from what she had decided.

"Maybe," he replied simply, "Winning the Hunger Games won't change them you know. It won't make you feel better."

"A fat lot you know!" Lila shot back, "If I won the Games my parents would have to be proud of me! Besides, then I'd be financially independent and maybe I could actually get out of this god forsaken place!"

Rainer opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the loud ring of the grandfather clock. It was midnight already.

Lila stood up, pushed up her sleeves, and flashed a grin at Derek, who called across the room, "Don't worry honey, I'll make sure not to hurt you."

Rainer slapped a hand to his forehead beside Lila.

"Make sure to not beat him up too badly," Rainer whispered to Lila, "He'll be hurting enough from the alcohol tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful with precious Derek," Lila whispered back, "Mind telling me where you get all this alcohol from?"

Rainer just shook his head and stood up, swaying slightly. He slung an arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, looks like he was drunk already as well.

"Knock him dead," Rainer said, slurring slightly, "Well, not literally...Literally dead would be bad."

* * *

**District Nine: Rye Stone**

* * *

_Bang, bang, bang! _A scruffy and bearded man sitting at the head of the table slammed his fist down, quieting the small group of people huddled around the table. The room was dark, the only light being a few scattered candles and a sliver of moonlight which crept out through a crack in the boarded up windows.

"Quiet!" the man hissed, "Do you want the Peacekeepers to find us?"

"Well, I don't think your banging is helping the matter, Farl," Rye commented darkly and Farl shot him a look before continuing.

"Barley, status report."

Barley looked up from the table and shrugged helplessly, "No one wants anything to do with it...they have lost all hope."

The group was quiet and Farl looked older than ever, "So, you can't find anyone who wants to be a part of it?"

"No one," Barley said, anger coloring his voice, "It's like they've all forgotten that only twenty-six years ago two berries sparked a revolution and we won! The Capitol has already been beaten once...why can't we do it again?"

"What they need is something to show them that the fight isn't over, we haven't been beaten yet," Rye interjected.

Farl turned to him and asked, "And what are you thinking would do that? Better yet, how do you expect to reach more than a handful of people? Even if you managed to rouse all of District Eight...what then? Take on the Capitol?"

"No...," Rye mused, "It can't just be Eight, it needs to be everyone."

"Well? Do you have any ideas?" Farl prompted.

Rye hesitated slightly before answering, "No."

"Well, if you have any then come and talk to me," Farl said, sighing, "That goes for the rest of you! In between now and the next meeting I want everyone brainstorming...plans, we need plans!"

The people started leaving the old factory, darting out at intervals in order to avoid a crowd of people leaving the building at night. Rye stood up to leave, but Farl stopped him.

"What?" Rye asked.

"I hope you're not thinking of doing anything rash," Farl said, narrowing his eyes at Rye.

"Of course not," Rye lied confidently, "What do you think I'm going to do? Run along the streets, shouting anti-Capitolist propaganda?"

"I don't know," Farl said suspiciously, "I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"What's to be worried about? I'm living the dream!" Rye whispered sarcastically, "No square meals a day, routine beatings, and living under the reign of a tyrannical psycho! What's not to love?"

"I know the future looks dark, but we must stay hopeful."

"No," Rye hissed, "We need to take action."

And with that Rye wrenched himself out of Farl's grip and carelessly darted out of the door and into the night, not caring if there were any Peacekeepers around.

* * *

**District Four: Helena 'Howl' Draconix**

* * *

The morning of the Reaping found Howl and her brother eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Howl glared at her brother fiercely over her bowl of cereal and brandished her spoon at him, "Shut your mouth, Azael, or I'll shut it for you! Just you wait and see, I'll win the Game too. And I'll get more kills than you!"

"Yeah, you'll sneak up on them and cut them off at the knees," Azael teased, making a dig about Howl's petite frame. Howl sneered at him and was about to make a snide remark when her mother walked in, her long dark hair up in a ponytail.

"I hope I don't hear any fighting," she said coolly, not looking at either of her children.

"Naw, of course not Mom," Azael said, leaning back in his chair and oblivious to his mother's distant tone.

"Good," Nike said, holding a sheaf of papers in one arm and turning to smile with slight warmth at her eldest child. Nike turned to Howl, "Darling, make sure you're ready for the Reaping later, your father will be taking you. I'm going to take an early train to the Capitol, they need these plans as soon as possible. Besides, there's really no point in me staying. Azael's already won his Games and you wouldn't be able to win this one."

"I could win this one!" Howl burst out, tired of seeing her mother gaze upon her with such a disappointed look. Her mother laughed slightly, but the emotion didn't reach her eyes.

"Dear, you're just not ready for the Games," she said, with mock sympathy, sizing up Howl who hadn't yet reached five feet.

"But, I know you'll enter the Games and our _daughter _will come home a winner," Nike stated and Howl knew what was behind the supposedly kind words. She would come home a winner, or the Draconix family wouldn't have a daughter anymore. Just a son. A son of which they could actually be proud. Howl felt her mother's words stab like a knife into her heart and her blood boiled, but all she could do was nod and agree.

"Good girl," her mother said, absently patting her head, "Well I'm off, the Capitol needs their weapons specialists!"

As soon as her mother was gone, Howl stood up, "I'm going to go train a bit before the Reaping."

"All right," Azael said, "Just make sure you're back in time, Mother would have a conniption if she knew you went to the Reaping looking less than perfect."

Howl nodded and waved a hand at Azael, practically running out the door. She jogged to the training center, hoping to practice a new technique with her trident that her instructor had taught Howl the day before.

Howl rushed into the training center having no time to waste. Upon dashing through the center's double doors, Howl ran into something solid.

"Howl! Where are you going in such a hurry?" questioned the boy, his broad grin challenging.

"Move out of my way Nexus! I don't have time for your games today. I need to get any last minute training in!"

"What for?" Nexus spluttered, "It's not like you're volunteering and even if you were Reaped you would have girls begging the escort for your place."

Howl merely sniffed and attempted to go around him, but he stepped in front of her, his blue eyes piercing, "Unless you're _planning _on volunteering?"

"So what if I am?" Howl demanded.

"Then I would think that that would be a very unwise decision," Nexus replied.

"Why? Because I'm small?" Howl shot back, tired of everyone bringing up this point.

"You said it, not me," Nexus replied slowly, as if talking to a very small and ignorant child, "Besides, this is the first year we're eligible for the Games. Why rush?"

"Oh, you don't know anything, Nexus Fausto!" Howl snarled and she stomped off in the direction of the practice dummies. Howl picked up a bow and began shooting the row of dummies repeatedly, watching with satisfaction as they slumped on their posts and stuffing fell out of them.

"What," came a familiar voice from behind her, "did these dummies ever do to you?"

"Hi Ares," Howl said, not able to be angry at him, no matter how much she would have loved to have snapped at whomever had interrupted her practice.

"Frustrated?"

"A little," she said simply.

"I can tell."

Howl nodded and Ares came to stand next to her.

"Your mother?" he asked.

"And Nexus."

He nodded, "Well, Nexus can be a little git sometimes."

Howl growled and shot another arrow, "I'll show them."

"I know you will," Ares stated, uncharacteristically serious, "But in the meantime, Mrs. I'm-So-Amazing-Because-My-Father-Is-Mayor is practicing her hand to hand combat. Go beat her up. It'll make you feel better."

* * *

**District Nine: Moxie Milling**

* * *

Moxie gasped as she splashed the freezing water on her face and shivered slightly as a crisp breeze came in through her open window. Moxie shut it quickly and rubbed her arms.

Today was the day.

Today was the very last time she would ever have to dress up and be led, like a pig to the slaughter, just waiting to see if her name would be called. If she would be the "lucky" one chosen.

Moxie turned around and admired the scars on her back in the mirror, lashes for every time she had been caught breaking the rules, which had been quite a few times. Every time had hurt, but it had been worth it to see the looks on those Peacekeepers faces when she insulted them, told them just enough of what she thought of them, but not enough for her to be seriously in danger.. She'd stolen for her family before, but those hadn't been the times she had been caught.

Moxie slipped on her dress and smoothed the fabric, finding it ironic that the nicest and most expensive item she owned was the one she hated the most.

Moxie knew that it was unlikely that she would be reaped. Her brother had never let her take out any tesserae, a fact which had made her feel guilty and caused her to work tirelessly out in the field. But still, she couldn't help but worry. Those with only one slip had been reaped before.

No one was safe.

Moxie headed out the back door and walked in the direction opposite her house. Underneath a small cluster of trees stood Archer Grace, a Peacekeeper who had been recently assigned to District Nine.

"Miss, I believe the Reaping is the other direction," he said authoritatively and he stepped closer to her, offering her his arm, "Not trying to avoid it, are we?"

Moxie giggled slightly and shook her head vigorously, "Of course not, _Sir_."

"Good. But I'm afraid you'll come with me, I can't take any chances. Especially not with a lady as pretty as yourself," he said smiling, before dropping his tone conspiratorially, "You never what lurks in District Nine."

Moxie and laughed, but her heart wasn't entirely in it, she still had the Reaping hanging over her head. Archer noticed and was immediately sympathetic, "It'll be alright."

Moxie shrugged.

"You only have your name in there seven times, do you know how small of a chance that is?"

"Pretty small."

"Exactly, it's pretty damn small."

This brought a small smile to Moxie's face and she nudged him, "You're the law, you're not supposed to swear."

"I'm also supposed to turn in troublemakers, but I don't do that all the time," he said pointedly, winking at Moxie.

"That's true," she said lightly, but inside she was very thankful, he'd let her rule breaking slide many times, "I guess you're just terrible at your job."

"I guess so," he said and the pair of them laughed, the guard and the prisoner making a very odd couple indeed.

* * *

**_First off let me acknowledge the wonderful people who brought you all these fantastic tributes!  
Colton Crane - Munamana  
__Jerri Grace - Awsomazing11  
Lila Waters - Trapped in Narnia  
Rye Stone - Charlieal12  
Helena 'Howl' Draconix - incubiis  
Moxie Milling - CU29QT_**

**So sorry about how late this chapter was! Unfortunately I've been sick, visiting colleges, and just having all kinds of things people need from me right now. Anyone who thinks that summer is relaxing anymore is wrong...**

**Anyway, I hope you all liked the chapter! As you may have noticed, not everyone's tribute is in here, but during the next few chapters, everyone's tribute willhave their own moment to shine.**

**SOUND OFF! What do you think of the characters so far? Who's your favorite? Who'll do well in the Games? Are there any you don't like?  
**

**Don't forget to review and be sure to leave me any constructive criticisms! I'm always looking to grow as a writer!**

**Thanks!**  
**-Sydney**


	3. Reaping Day

Chapter Three: Reaping Day

* * *

Reaping Day. In thirteen different Districts, in the hearts of hundreds upon hundreds of people, this day all meant one thing: fear. This day, Lady Death stalked their children, wearing the guise of painted on smiles and bright colored cloth. She dipped her talons into the Reaping Ball, letting Fate decide who would live and who would die. Her voice was sickly sweet, her eyes too cunning to be fair, and her smile was the worst, for it showed she didn't care.

* * *

The Reaping Day of the 100th Hunger Games was particularly beautiful. The day was cloudless and sultry, the birds drifting lazily in the light breeze. But, in the largest building in the Capital, the fourth room on the right, on the thirteenth floor, was pitch black. The windows were shut and the lights were off; the only light in the room coming from the large, silver screen, upon which the President's eyes were fixated. Although he was still young, his pale skin and the shadows which were cast upon his face made him look old and decrepit, his thin fingers tapping on his chair's armrest.

Maldor leaned back in his chair, settling in to watch the Reapings. He always enjoyed watching the District's children being picked, having been in that same position himself, while at their mercy. The Reapings were long and boring, so he really only paid attention to the exciting tributes, it was his Head Gamemaker's job to really watch the Reapings closely and write up a condensed version for him.

Maldor yawned through the introductions, they were the same every year. Something about how gracious and merciful he was, a brief overview of the Districts' transgressions, and their subsequent reminder of these infractions...the Hunger Games.

* * *

Maldor watched disparagingly as most of the tributes from One, Two, and Four practically thrust themselves upon the stage. He could not understand their twisted thinking; although, he congratulated himself upon retraining them to follow the same program that they had during Snow's rein. These tributes provided good entertainment and most likely one of them was the future victor, Maldor liked the girl from District One. She looked like she would obey orders.

The tribute from Two was almost a disappointment. However, Maldor was pleased to note that the crippled boy's twin brother volunteered for him. This boy seemed much sturdier, a real contender in the Games.

Maldor yawned through District Three and raised an eyebrow at the frail looking boy from Five who just walked up on the stage unannounced.

"Rude," he said, shaking his head. Kids these days. They really had no sense of respect!

The girl from Six tearfully volunteered for her best friend and Maldor snorted, he would never risk his life for a friend.

Districts Seven and Eight faded into a blur for Maldor, but he seemed to recognize the girl from somewhere...

"That's right!" he said, snapping his fingers. She was the one he had hand picked to be Reaped. It was best to counter the hope a Victor brought to their District by sending the Victor's children to the Games. Just gave a polite little reminder to the people that they were all in danger, no one was above the law. Except for Maldor of course.

Next up was Nine and Maldor paid more attention to the mentor, Leron Tillerman, than the girl who was being Reaped. Tillerman had won the 94th Hunger Games, the second one of which Maldor had been in charge. Technically, had Maldor only counted the Games during Snow's reign, the Capitol Games, and the ones he had run, Tillerman would have won the 78th Games. But, Maldor had preferred to start on the 93rd, acting as if there had been no Rebellion and no disruption of the Hunger Games.  
Maldor rubbed his eyes as the boy from Nine volunteered and he wondered how idiotic the Districts were. Judging by the number of volunteers, they had no sense at all.******  
**

Maldor tapped his fingers through the commercials, next year he would have to demand a separate copy of the Reapings. One without ads.

The Reapings resumed and the boy from Ten put on quite a show. Originally, another boy was picked for District Ten, but Colton, at least that's what Maldor thought his name was, quickly volunteered. At first Maldor assumed he was volunteering for a friend, but when the other boy tried to reclaim his place, Colton promptly punched him in the jaw, knocking him out cold and grinning cockily at the cameras. Maldor shrugged, he guessed that the immigration which had been allowed during the Mockingjay's reign had spread the Career mentality to all of the Districts.

Districts Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen were uneventful, the tributes varying from promising to hopeless. Thirteen in particular seemed strong, but that was no surprise, they trained too much for his liking. Thirteen, having had no victors from during Snow's reign were assigned a mentor from the Capitol. Maldor smiled knowing that he had picked the perfect lad for the job. He would mentor the tributes well, but Maldor would get to watch the Games knowing that when either of his tributes died, it would drive a knife into his heart.

* * *

Maldor yawned once again, relieved that the tedious Reapings were over. He would have Sunday send over her report on the Reaping as soon as she had finished it, but as of right now he still had plenty of daylight left.

He could go visit Scarlett...No, she annoyed him, he would have to find a different woman. One whose voice wasn't so strenuous on the ears.

Maldor wanted to be alone right now, dealing with others was exhausting. He pulled open the drawer of his bedside table and grabbed out a pair of gardening gloves.

He would tend his father's old rose garden.

* * *

**Well, that was a short chapter! The Reapings are always difficult for me to write, how do I do it so that they aren't boring, but still get information across? Well, I wrote and rewrote this, but finally...I'm still not happy with it. But, I knew if I didn't just post it, then I'd be working on it _forever_. And that's no fun for you guys!**

**Anyway, next chapter will be Sunday's (the Head Gamemaker) report and it's a sort of "Get to Know Your Tributes" thing. So, if you're confused about who's who...fear not! All will become clear soon!**

**Thank you for reading, please review, and hopefully my arch nemeses, typos and lack of proofreading, aren't too noticeable in this chapter!**

**-Sydney**


	4. Saying Goodbye

Chapter Four: The Justice Building

* * *

**District One: Seanna Vipond**

* * *

"Oh Seana we're so proud of you!" cried her mother, practically bursting through the door and running over to hug her daughter. She pulled back a second later and narrowed her eyes, "But dear, couldn't you have worn anything _nicer_?"

Seanna rolled her eyes at her mother, she would never be into fashion like her mother and sisters were. Her father patted her on the shoulder and gruffly said, "Good girl, you did well out there."

That was high praise coming from Peljro Vipond, he was usually too busy critiquing her to give any compliments. Seanna smiled, "Thank you."

"Oh, I'm just so jealous!" wailed Jewell, her sister, "Think of all the pretty outfits you'll get to wear in the Capitol!"

"They are going to make you look absolutely radiant!" tittered her mother, fluttering around her like a gaudy butterfly, "I'm going to be absolutely green with envy!"

"She is going to be fighting for her life!" interjected her brother, Leon, looking rather scandalized at his family's obvious lack of priorities.

"Oh don't be such a stick in the mud," reprimanded Seanna's other sister, Alannis, "We all know that Seanna is going to be perfectly fine."

"We don't know that!" Leon retorted and both Jewell and Alannis began arguing with him.

Seanna tuned out her family's routine bickering, instead focusing on the task ahead. By the end of the week she would be in the arena and in there, no one could help her. All she could do was rely on her training, which, luckily, had been extensive. Her father was a ruthless trainer, never settling for less than her best and always pushing her to go beyond that. Having her enter the Hunger Games had first been her parents dream, but now it had become hers as well.

Hadn't it?

* * *

**District Six: Ariannah LeFaye**

* * *

"Ariannah!" her mother exclaimed once the Peacekeepers let her into the room. Both she and her mother pretended to appear distraught and only once her mother had pulled Ariannah into a tight embrace did she dare to whisper into Ariannah's ear, "You're in, we did it!"

"I know!" Ariannah breathed back.

"I just wish you hadn't chosen this year...what with the Quell and all..."

"I know," Ariannah replied, sniffing loudly for the cameras she assumed were hidden in the room, "But when Lyssa was Reaped I knew that that was the best chance I'd have to volunteer without instantly becoming a threat."

"Yes, I understand," her mother said, "I'm so happy for you dear, my parents never let me volunteer back in District Two and I'm so glad that you'll get the chance to live out your dream, the one I never got to follow."

Ariannah began to reply, but was cut off by a Peacekeeper who, at that moment, opened the door and said, "Time's up."

Ariannah's mother made a production of wailing and crying, refusing to leave. Finally the Peacekeeper had to forcibly remove her from the room and only moments later, another visitor entered. This one was sobbing for real and ran to Ariannah as soon as she was able to squeeze past the Peacekeeper.

Lyssa threw her arms around Ariannah, "I c-can't believe you would v-volunteer for me."

Ariannah plastered on a fake smile, attempting to appear sweet and self-sacrificing, "You know I would do anything for you, Lyssa."

_That's me, the martyr_, Ariannah thought, grimacing as she returned Lyssa's hug. She tried to tune out Lyssa's sniffling and stream of optimism, her simpering smiles and infuriatingly kind words driving Ariannah crazy.

"I just know you can win!" Lyssa said, beaming at Ariannah with a mixture of sadness and guilt, but the same annoying optimism.

_Yes, yes I will._

* * *

**District Seven: Tily Walters**

* * *

"Five minutes," the Peacekeeper said gruffly and Tily's stomach boiled with anger, _five_ _minutes_, they couldn't give the tributes any longer with each of their friends and family?

Trent entered the room, shooting the Peacekeeper a slight glare as he walked past. Huffily, the Peacekeeper responded by closely the door roughly. For a second, she and Trent just stared at each other, but in a flash he was hugging her comfortingly and Tily was biting her lip in order to keep from crying.

"You're going to be okay," he was saying, "You're going to fine."

"Fine?" Tily demanded, "How am I going to be fine? Either I'm going to be killed or I'm going to have to kill someone else, someone just like me, who was forced into this by the Capitol."

"Well, technically some of them volunteer."

Tily glared up at him, "Not helping."

"Sorry," Trent apologized putting up his hands. He paused before continuing, pulling back and looking Tily in the eyes, "Tily Walters, you are my best friend. You're smart and you're strong, but most of all, you're real. I believe in you and you had better believe in yourself as well, because if you die in the arena...I will quite literally kill you."

Tily made a strangled noise which was a combination of laughing and crying, "You just like me because I'm one of the only girls at school who isn't lining up to be with you."

"That's what I mean," Trent said earnestly, "You don't judge on superficial details, everything you do is because you believe in that action or the people you choose to support. You've taught me a lot, Tily. And I'm choosing to support the person _I_ believe in, which is you. You're not just going to be fine, you're going to win!"

Tily sniffed, her heart still laden down with anger and distress, but Trent's words had significantly lessened the burden.

* * *

**District Ten: Crisis Secliss**

* * *

There was a knock on the door and bright blue eyes peeked into the room, as if checking to make sure the coast was clear. As soon as Exigency spotted his big sister, he ran to her, hugging Crisis as if it might be his last time with her. For indeed that might have been the case.

She hugged him back tightly, running a hand through his hair with a motherly attitude and saying, "It's going to be alright, you're going to be fine."

"It's not me I'm worried about!" Exigency burst out, "You're the one in danger."

"Hey," Crisis said, pulling his chin up, "Nothing is ever going to stop me from coming back to you. You don't have to worry about me. Mira is going to take care of you while I'm gone, but when I get back then it'll be the two of us again."

Crisis figured that Exigency must be really worried about the Games if he didn't complain about going to stay with Mira, an old woman to whom Crisis sold sheep. Bald and withered, Mira was a great source of comfort to Crisis and always mothered Exigency, but he was at the age now that he didn't want anyone to baby him, except Crisis, and he said that her place "smelled weird".

Crisis hugged him tighter and the pair didn't say anything, each one just hugging the other in a show of mutual support and comfort.

A Peacekeeper came in and signalled to Exigency, their time was up. Exigency didn't move, but Crisis softly pried his hands from her, pushing him towards the door.

"Don't worry," she said, "I'll see you soon."

Crisis smiled and tried to push any remaining doubts or fears to the back of her mind, she couldn't let her mind become clouded because in these Games, she wasn't just fighting for herself.

* * *

**District Thirteen: Theron Hawkins**

* * *

Theron rested his head in his hands, the misfortune his choices had caused overwhelming him. No one would be coming to see him, so he knew that he would have all of this time to think. To think about how he had unwittingly pitted himself against the only girl he'd ever really wanted and killed his own father.

It had only been four hours prior when Theron had sat down with his father for breakfast. He didn't eat much, he was too nervous. In a matter of a few hours he would be volunteering for the Games and his father, a prior victor from Snow's Games, would be his mentor. They had been discussing strategy for years and now, during Theron's eighteenth year, he would volunteer and easily become the victor. All their planning was cast aside when his father decide to drop the bomb on him.

"I don't want you to volunteer."

"What?" Theron had spluttered spitting out his cereal.

"I don't want you to be in the Games. I know, that we have spent years training you for them, but for what reason? Money? We already have enough of that. Fame? You don't need it, you're smart boy, you can easily get any job you want here. Find a girl, live life, be happy. You don't need to be haunted by the memories of those who died by your hands, those who begged for mercy...but you killed them anyway. They don't tell you how it hurts, the victors from the Career districts, because they don't want to be seen as weak. But hurt it does and I just can't believe that I've been misleading you all this time," his father has said, looking haggard, but Theron couldn't see the love in his eyes. All Theron could focus on was how _weak_ his father looked, he had always looked up to his father, where was the strong man he had admired?

Theron had opened his mouth to talk when realization hit him.

"You just don't want me to overshadow you. You can't stand thinking that people will pay attention to me instead of you."

His father had looked aghast, but Theron had taken it as a display of guilt.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, _Father_, but I am tired of living in your shadow and there is nothing you can do to stop me from volunteering," Theron had yelled, proceeding to slam his breakfast back onto the table and stalking out of the house. And that was the last time he had seen his father. All of the mentors were supposed to be at the Reaping, the bloke from the Capitol was there to fill in for one of the spots, Maldor had made it mandatory for there to be a mentor for each tribute, but his father never showed up.

The escort for District Thirteen always announced the male tribute first and by the time the news came, it was already too late for Theron. His father had been found dead, the Peacekeepers didn't allow the man to state the cause of death, Theron assumed that was because they didn't want his father's suicide to change anyone's mind about the Hunger Games. Having a previous victor commit suicide was did not speak positively about them. Of course Theron had not been told what his father's cause of death was, it couldn't be something natural, or else the Peacekeepers would have let the man announce it. His father didn't have any enemies that Theron could think of...the only thing that had been bothering him was Theron's determination to volunteer for the Games.

Theron was barely able to hold himself together for the cameras, but he knew that this was a defining moment for his standing in the Games. He stood stoic and strong as the escort had dipped her hand into the Reaping ball once again.

"Ardis Campion!"

His heart plummeted, his father had been right. The Games led to nothing but heartache.

* * *

**First off let me thank the fantastic people who made this chapter's tributes!**

**_Seanna Vipond- DustryStroodle228  
Ariannah LeFaye- i-am-foxface  
Tily Walters- Small Town Girl 2014  
Crisis Secliss- The Moonlight Sonata  
Theron Hawkins- kitkate1627_**

**Secondly, I made a mistake previously. I stated that this would be Sunday's chapter (which is basically a list of the tributes with a little general information), however, I realized that the Justice Building and Train Rides would come first. So, we get to meet more tributes first!**

**Thirdly, some have expressed that they wished they wanted to know where each of the tributes were hailing from and at the beginning of each character's section I have now added a header (and for the previous chapter, if you're curious). I wanted to avoid doing this as I felt it sort of broke the flow of the story, but I now realize it's the only way for me to avoid confusing you guys!**

**Thank you for reading, please review, and I can't wait for the next chapter!**

**-Sydney**


	5. Journey to the Capitol

Chapter Five: The Train Ride

* * *

**District Four: Silver Hartford**

* * *

"Chop, chop! On the train children!" tittered their escort and Silver's district partner rolled her eyes. Silver, on the other hand, made sure to maintain his smile and nodded politely at Abelia, trying to repress his feelings of disgust for her vapid chatter.

He climbed the shiny steps of the Capitol bound train, his heart beating steadily in his chest. He had finally done it, volunteered for the Hunger Games. Silver could only imagine his parents at the moment, their faces an odd mixture of pride and anger. Pride that their son was going to win, not only the Hunger Games, but the 100th Quarter Quell and anger that he had not only neglected to wait until he was eighteen, but had not even bothered to consult them about volunteering earlier.

"Your room," Abelia said, gesturing to Silver, "is down the hall, on the right. And Helena, darling, your room is down the hall, on the _left_."

Both tributes stared back at her, nonplussed by her condescending tone.

"Everybody got that?" she tittered brightly, "Good! Now you two just feel free to get a snack and I'm sure your mentor will be out to talk to you shortly!"

Abelia turned on her heel and walked briskly down the hall, her hair piled precariously on top of her head, Silver was sure that it would come toppling down any second. He turned to Helena and stuck out a hand, "Silver."

"Howl," she said, grasping his hand firmly, "I don't go by Helena."

Silver was impressed by her grip, it was quite firm for a twelve year old girl. He would do well not to underestimate her. Best option was to gain her trust now, become friends. She would pay for it in the end...but he wasn't going to tell _her_ that.

* * *

**District Thirteen: Ardis Campion**

* * *

Ardis gazed around the train with wide eyes, taking in its lavish decor, the colors too bright and the patterns to diverse for it to ever be tasteful in her eyes, but she was nonetheless overwhelmed by its extravagance. Against her better judgement, she scooted closer to Theron. Her body recognizing the presence of her best friend, while her mind was screaming that before the week was over they would be pitted against each other. Theron glanced down at her and they made made eye contact, Ardis struck by the despair in his usually clear-sighted eyes. She felt her heart stir for her friend, but it was instantly quelled by a brief flair of anger. He had volunteered for this! Had he not?

She had never really understood his desire to be in the Games, but she had realized early on that it had been fostered by his father's romanticized tales of grandeur from the arena. Ardis wished that she could think unkind thoughts about Theron's father, but he had always been good to her. And now he was gone. Ardis couldn't imagine what Theron was feeling at that moment. She couldn't wait for their mentors and escort to leave so that she could comfort him, his eyes betrayed him, even if his stoic facade did not.

Her anxiety about her friend tinged with curiosity about his father's mysterious death caused Ardis to fidget, shifting her weight from foot to foot as Poppy recited the rules that they were expected to obey. Ardis took this time to observe their mentor from the Capitol. Theron's father had been the only victor in District Thirteen and Preston Gothard had been sent from the Capitol to fill in. She was surprised, he looked drastically different than the Capitol escorts, no colored hair or modified features. He even looked normal. In fact he seemed to be only a little older than she! The only signs of his Capitol origins were his neatly combed hair and impeccable suit, but Ardis noticed that he seemed to be uncomfortable, fidgeting with his tie in a way that was similar to how she was shifting her feet. She stopped abruptly as he glanced her way, his dark blue eyes piercing and calculating, as if he was evaluating her, which Ardis supposed was his job.

"Well, I'll leave you two with Preston!" said Poppy, their escort, happily, not about to let someone's death get in the way of her doing her job, "Everbody get to know each other, it's Preston's first time mentoring the Games and we want him to feel welcome, right?"

Ardis nodded listlessly in order to pacify Poppy. As soon as she was out of sight, Preston turned to the two of him, pity clearly written on his face, "I offer my deepest condolences for your father."

Theron nodded simply, appearing to be frustrated by the Capitol mentor.

"Thank you," he said snidely, "It _is_ depressing when your parent is dead and all the people around you are prepared to be celebrating the death of children."

Ardis nudged him with her elbow, she knew that he was hurt and was taking it out on their mentor, but he needed to remember that Preston was going to be their only lifeline. Making him angry wasn't going to help them!

"Yes, I understand how you feel."

Theron snorted, "That's doubtful."

"I apologize," Preston replied, his voice steady and without anger, his only expression of annoyance in the slight quirk of an eyebrow, "I should have clarified. I was referring to the fact that I knew from personal experience how it was to lose one's parents."

Theron was cowed, but he couldn't bring himself to show any remorse. Ardis knew that he despised the carefree Capitol citizens. She shook her head slightly, he was such a hypocrite. Goodness knows that he had lived better than the rest of District Thirteen for his entire life, his father's status as a victor ensuring that.

"When?" questioned Ardis softly, speaking up for the first time.

"Hmmm?"

"When did you lose your parents?"

Preston waved a pale hand, "Oh, when I was very young. But I was still old enough to remember them. Sometimes I wish that I couldn't, it would probably be easier."

Preston appeared to be deep in thought, remembering, and all Ardis wanted to do was reach over and hug him, but she refrained as she thought that he would not respond positively to her pity. He seemed to be a person who gave his own freely enough, but loathed having others regard him with such looks.

Poppy popped her head back into the room at that moment, "Preston, do you know where the bread in the kitchen has gone?"

"I would guess that it would be in the breadbox," he answered acidly and even though Poppy was oblivious to his sarcasm, Ardis felt herself becoming angry. And slightly concerned that her escort was busy making a sandwich. Instead of, perhaps, developing strategies so that they don't _die._

"You didn't have to be so rude to her," snapped Ardis, ignoring the voice that reminded her that she was standing up for the woman who had _Reaped_ her.

"Please, she doesn't even notice," Preston retorted and ran a hand through his raven hair, "Besides, weren't you the one making snide remarks to her before we got on the train?"

"If you hadn't noticed, I was just Reaped for the _Hunger_ _Games_!" Ardis exclaimed, angry that he had decided to bring up her own uncivil comments.

Preston shrugged, "I _did_ notice, I'm quite observant. Which _is_ lucky, had I not been I might have missed you altogether."

Ardis had been prepared to make a withering reply, but his comment so infuriated her that the words died in her throat. She wasn't sure if he was referring to her height, or lack thereof, or was simply calling her plain. Either way she didn't take kindly to his remark, growling softly, fully prepared to wring his neck and accept the consequences. She wasn't sure why this man angered her so, but she attributed it to her anger over the Reaping.

And his face. _That unbearable_ _smirk._

Ardis opened her mouth to deliver a biting reply, but Theron cut in before the fight could escalate.

"Come on Ardis," he said, suddenly calm, "We don't need him, let's just go. We'll talk."

Ardis allowed herself to be dragged away, but she couldn't help but look back at their infuriating mentor. She regretted it immediately. The smirk tugging at his lips only further incensed her.

* * *

**District Five: Milo Gordon**

* * *

Milo observed his District partner from a ways off, admiring her supple neck, the way her cheeks were flushed red, vitality emanating from her body.

Milo thought about how pretty she'd look when he slit her neck.

The red of her blood would contrast nicely with her skin, staining it crimson. It would gush from the wound, painting her body, tattooing it. The warmth would leave her and he could only imagine how her skin would pale, contrasting the color of her blood even more. But, his favorite part was watching the light leave their eyes...even if lately all he'd been able to find were a few rats. They weren't as satisfy as the rabbits and those didn't hold a candle to what he really wanted.

A human being.

A human being, soft and fragile, in the position where he would choose their fate. He would be the one to cut the string, watch them go limp and lifeless. Control, he would have control.

His District partner seemed to notice him watching her and she shifted slightly in her seat, appearing slightly uncomfortable. He grinned at her, his mouth forming a dark slash across his face.

He would be the master of them all. He would be their leader and when he killed them, they would love him for it. They would feel _honored_ that he chose them.

He was in control.

* * *

**District Seven: Cypress Madison**

* * *

Cypress observed as his District partner slumped into the chair next to him, it was obvious that her mind was otherwise occupied, she didn't appear to be wary of him at all. He grinned vampirically, her inattentiveness would be to her disadvantage today.

"Greetings," he said, breaking the silence smoothly, "I am Cypress Madison."

"Tily Walters," she replied, shaking his outstretched hand. He took in her appearance, brown wavy hair, green eyes, a bit of an oversized nose...overall a very average girl. She did not appear to possess any sort of extraordinary intelligence and Cypress didn't plan to lessen that gap for her in any way.

He took in her red and puffy eyes and paused before asking innocently, "Goodbyes were difficult?"

Tily nodded her head, "Very hard. I had to say goodbye to my best friend and my dad, you?"

"I didn't say goodbye, just bid my father a temporary farewell," he replied. Tily cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Someone's very sure of themselves, aren't they?"

"Not with undo reason," he replied, smirking.

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you, the Games haven't even begun."

Cypress shrugged. _That's what you think_, he thought and turned away from his dim witted partner, satisfied that theirs was not a battle he would have to be concerned about.

* * *

**District Eight: Paisley Harrifield**

* * *

Paisley shifted slightly in her seat, feeling rather uncomfortable as her mentors assessed the pair of them, flinging questions at them faster than they could answer. Her District partner, Starch Abersmith, sat rigidly next to her, deliberately avoiding any contact with her. When Paisley and Starch had boarded the train together earlier, she had racked her brain for any appropriate conversation starters. She took great care in constructing her comments, not sure how to relate to Starch. Her efforts were all for not however, Starch met her overly polite small talk with a stony silence and Paisley had resigned herself to the fact that her District partner was a stuck up prat.

She hadn't known that poor people could _be_ stuck up.

"What, would you say, is the thing that would most make the Capitol audience sympathize with you?" questioned Starch's mentor, Ivan Dougherty.

Starch blinked at him a couple times and Paisley saw a flicker of emotion in his previously cold eyes, but Dougherty didn't want to waste any time on reminiscing.

"Yes?" he prompted, snapping his fingers.

"I guess it would be my siblings, _Doughie,"_ Starch replied with a hint of sarcasm, reminding Dougherty that even though he had won the Games the previous year, Starch was still a year older than he. Chubby, little Doughie had been in Paisley's classes since grade school and it had been shock to everyone when he returned home from the Games alive. Although, it was true that he couldn't take much credit for his victory. His survival had been based on luck and the kindness of other tributes. When the final battle occurred, Dougherty was sleeping in the mud under a bush, tired after feasting on the food that he had snagged right off of another tribute's spit. Dougherty had justified his actions by convincing himself that he needed more food to keep him going than that skinny twelve year old. While he was dozing in the mud, the other tributes had fatally harmed each other and Dougherty was crowned the Victor.

Dougherty turned a violent shade of purple and Paisley was abruptly brought back to the present, "You will show a little respect Abersmith!"

"Oh, you have my utmost respect," Starch replied in a voice that clearly meant that he did not. Paisley smiled slightly and her mentor, a middle aged victor from Snow's time, rolled her eyes, obviously tired of Dougherty's theatrics.

"Don't pass out Doughie," Paisley scolded him, "I don't want to have to roll you back to your room."

Dougherty had the look of one betrayed by their only ally; Paisley shrugged, she'd never liked Dougherty. An unlikely bully though he surely was, he had always taken advantage and abused any power he was given, especially over the younger children.

"Well," Dougherty spat, "I think that concludes our session for right now, I will talk to you two later!"

"I should certainly hope so," Paisley replied as Doughtery stalked away from them, determined to have the last word "Wouldn't want you to be skirting your precious responsibilities!"

The female mentor faded from the room as Dougherty left, leaving Starch and Paisley sitting by themselves. Neither of them said a thing, but they shared a smile and Paisley knew she had gained an ally and unfortunately, a friend.

* * *

**District Eleven: Robyn Holmwood**

* * *

That evening Robyn lay face down on her bed, sobbing silently into the luxurious bedding, staining its surface with saltwater. She had so much unfinished business, so many people that she hadn't adequately told them that she loved them. She should have expected this to happen, just this morning she had wondered how it was fair that she was so happy when others were so miserable. Robyn guessed that this was the universe's way of making sure that the happiness was evenly spread out.

Despite her sadness, Robyn knew that death was something which she could accept. She had lived her life well, caring and loving others with all her heart. She wished that she had been more outgoing, that she had not waited for Coby to confess his feelings to her. If she had, then they might have had longer than a mere morning of bliss. But, Robyn knew that it was useless to stew over such matters, what person didn't have regrets?

No, it was not the thought of dying that frightened her the most. It was the journey in which she was about to embark on. Either, she would die at the hands of another or she would emerge victorious. But at what price? With another's blood staining her fingers forever more? With frightened screams echoing at the back of her mind and cruel eyes shining in the darkness of her imagination?

Either way she would not leave the arena unscathed and it frightened Robyn that she found herself steeling her nerves in order to prepare herself to become a murderer. To kill in order to return home.

* * *

**Well! I've been gone for quite some time, huh? ****Sorry about that! Lot's of end of summer plans cutting into my writing time!**

**First of all, let's talk about the elephant in the room. Obviously some of the tributes sections are significantly longer than others. I'm sorry! This chapter, I loosely set up what I wanted to accomplish and then... I wrote. And this is how it ended up. I want to go back and lengthen peoples' parts, but I'm afraid of adding fluff where it's not needed and therefore decreasing the overall flow and general enjoyability (too bad I'm making that a word!) of the chapter. Again, I apologize, but sometimes it's up to the luck of the draw and the temperament of my selective writing block.**

**Secondly let's give a big hand to the authors who created this chapter's characters!**

_**Silver Hartford - Phantasia 515  
Milo Gordon - SeekerDraconis  
Cypress Madison - 13ASB  
Paisley Harrifield - quiet-little-wallflower  
Robyn Holmwood - DustyStroodle228**_

**Thank you for reading, please review, and I'll see you all next time!**

**- Sydney State Of Mind**


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